The Impossible Disappearance of Erin Hill
by BeyondTheHorizonIsHope
Summary: When people disappear, they do not drop off the face of the earth. There is a reasonable explanation surrounding the circumstances of their departure. That said, Erin was hard-pressed to find one as she fell, quite literally, through the earth and into the lap of a Dwarven prince.


**Hello! Hope here with another attempt at a story. Been thinking on this one a long time and with some encouragement from a friend, I've decided to post the prologue to see how the reception goes. I beg your forgiveness if I've ruined any of the facts. Please don't kill me. I wouldn't like that very much. **

**As per usual, I own nothing. This all belongs to Tolkien.**

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**Prologue**

Fíli had never been a light sleeper. He couldn't afford to be with Kíli. His little brother snored something fierce and tended to toss and turn with the ferocity of a storm. No, he learned how to drown out the sounds of the world a long time ago and could not be bothered to wake even if the mountains crumbled all around him, or so his mother had come to say. Prying the young prince from bed before he was wont to usually involved some form of physical violence, and a good deal of profanity from both sides.

But here in the wilds of Eriador, where he and his brother were truly alone for the first time in their young lives, Fíli found himself waking to every noise. A rustle in the grass, a bird in the trees, the smallest sounds were enough to rouse him. He'd lost countless hours of sleep to this unfortunate turn of events, and often took over Kíli's watch early. His brother, of course, would be snoring as soon as his eyes closed.

The elder did not want to think he was paranoid, just simply cautious of their new environment, but he was well aware of the thin line between the two. Lines blurred easily, especially in the wee hours of the morning with naught but an hour's rest on his side. Perhaps their mother had been right; perhaps they were too young, but Fíli would never admit that, not to Kíli, and especially not to Thorin. That was a blow his pride would be unable to cope with.

His mind was mulling over these thoughts, caught somewhere between sleeping and waking, when he picked up the sound of a whetstone at work. He was awake instantly, eyes taking in the detail of the tree looming overhead, the feel of the bedroll on his back, the sound of the crackling fire.

Inwardly, he sighed. There went another night's rest.

For a few moments, he watched the firelight dance on the leaves above, hoping the motion would lull him, but the constant ring of steel began to test his nerves.

"Keep that up and you won't have a sword by the time we meet the others."

"I could always take one of yours," Kíli replied without missing a beat. He never did. "Dwalin always said you fancy yourself an armory."

"He's one to talk." Fíli sat up, taking in the image of his little brother from across the campfire. He had stopped sharpening his sword, though the whetstone still hovered over the blade. They weren't ones to speak of their fears aloud, but Kíli's constant attention to the state of his weapons told him more than enough. "Get some sleep, Kee. I'll keep watch."

Kíli's head snapped up, eyes unmistakably full of concern. "That'll make this the fourth night in a row. Sure you don't want to try and sleep a little longer?"

"No point. I'm awake." Fíli stood and stretched, chasing off whatever weariness remained.

Kíli appeared to not believe him, but said nothing more on the subject. He gathered his things as Fíli stoked the fire, plopping down on his own bedroll before long, and was snoring louder than a pack of wargs not long after that.

Fíli simply watched him, blinking.

_Mahal, how does he do it?_

Attempting to make as little noise as possible, Fíli moved to the edge of their camp, seating himself on a small log. He stared into the surrounding darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust, which for a dwarf was never long. They would have been awfully useless miners otherwise.

The land did not seem very threatening, but Fíli knew better than to trust places he'd never been to. He'd been trained better than that. His gaze raked over the environment time and time again, absorbing every detail, though at this point it was more out of boredom than anything. He was half tempted to take out his own whetstone, but much like Kíli, his weapons had been sharpened far more than they needed to be.

This was the part of the adventure no one liked to speak of, the dead nights after long days with nothing but your thoughts and fears as company. It was dull, occasionally painful, and not at all what he or Kíli had been expecting.

It was then, as he mused over the incredibly inaccurate definition of adventure, that he heard what could be best described as a loud 'pop,' as though something had been relieved of pressure, from directly above him and the rush of wind. Odd, since the trees had been still all evening.

Then he heard a distinctly feminine cry.

Fíli turned his gaze upward, just able to catch the sight of a falling body before it collapsed on top of him.

"Mahal's beard!" he managed to shout before they both went tumbling over the log, landing in a heap of tangled limbs on the other side.

And that was how Fíli, Dwarven prince of Erebor and heir to Thorin Oakenshield, met Erin Hill of Upstate New York.

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**I'd love to know what you think! :D**


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